


Dean Winchester and the Audacity of This Bitch

by ComicBooksBro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Amara Bashing, Amara Being an Asshole (Supernatural), Assassin Dean Winchester, Attempt at Humor, Barista Dean Winchester, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, FBI Agent Castiel (Supernatural), I just really hate Amara okay, I wrote this out of spite, M/M, Serial Killer Dean Winchester, That's it, This Is STUPID, no beta we die, we just die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25691725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComicBooksBro/pseuds/ComicBooksBro
Summary: Dean is a barista.Castiel is a customer.Amara is literally insane.This is not going the way you think.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	Dean Winchester and the Audacity of This Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after waking up one morning after waking up to not 1, not 2, but 3 lovely comments on two of my previously published fics, all of them referencing Amara in some way. Amara was not in either of those fics, but still, some people insisted of knowing what happened to her.
> 
> And here we are.
> 
> So, buckle up boys, girls, and multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent, it's gonna be a wild ride.

_Ding!_

The pleasant ringing of a bell over the door prompted Dean to look up from where he was counting out change for a costumer. He tried to hide the grimace as he saw who had entered and quickly gave the costumer her change and pastries.

It was Amara.

Dean swallowed and looked around for someone to take his place while Amara decided to cut to the front of the line. No one else was around— _how is no one else around?_ Dean thought as Amara succeeded in taking her ‘rightful’ place at the front and leaned over the counter.

“Dean,” she said in what she probably thought was a seductive way. Dean thought it was more creepy than anything else. “

Hey, Cas,” Dean said, ignoring the creeper in front of him in favor of the blue-eyed angel behind her. Castiel wasn’t _really_ an angel, of course, but he sure did look like one sometimes. “What d’you want?” Castiel spoke up from behind a somewhat miffed Amara. “Large latte with whole milk, 15 shots of espresso, and a blueberry muffin.” Dean had long since ceased being phased by Castiel’s requests for insane amounts of espresso. After the first few orders he had gotten up the courage to ask Castiel exactly _why_ he would want so much espresso.

 _“I work nights,"_ Castiel had said. _“And I have two kids.”_ Dean had nodded understandingly, Sam had a couple kids, and as much as he loved them, he wouldn’t hesitate to admit that he lost more than a few hours sleep to their tantrums. _“They’re not mine,”_ Castiel had elaborated a minute later.

That was when Dean had begun to suspect Castiel had issues. But he was interesting, and not trying to... absorb Dean, or whatever Amara planned to do, so Dean didn’t mind him.

“Coming right up,” Dean said, setting up the espresso machine and milk frother single-handedly and taking a deep breath before looking over at Amara. “What can I get for you?” He asked flatly. They weren’t supposed to be rude to customers, but Amara was special, and as much as Dean didn’t want to lose his job, he wanted to get rid of Amara more.

“Grande Carmel Frappuccino with soy milk and two extra shots of caramel flavoring.” Amara paused, placing a finger to her lips in thought. “And three shots of vanilla.”

Dean nodded, poured Castiel’s drink, and stuck it on the counter in front of Castiel along with the muffin, giving him a somewhat apologetic smile as he did so. Castiel just shrugged and passed Dean the payment—exact change, as always. Dean absently prepared Amara’s drink, thinking back as to how he ended up in this situation in the first place.

***

It had started, quite fittingly, on Friday the 13th.

Dean had been making coffee and working the register, as was his job, when Amara walked in and ordered a scone and a drink (Grande Carmel Frappuccino with soy milk and two extra shots of caramel flavoring and three shots of vanilla. Same thing, every time, like annoying, sugary sweet, clockwork).

He had given her the coffee (though it was now too mangled to properly be called coffee), she had turned to leave, and promptly tripped straight over Abaddon, spilling her drink everywhere (it was well known that Abaddon had never returned). After the mess was cleaned up, Dean had remade her drink.

Innocent, right?

No.

Ever since Dean had handed her that god-forsaken drink it was like Amara was obsessed with him. She had cornered him /in his car/ after he had gotten off work that day. She had laid across Baby’s hood for god’s sake—it was all Dean could do not to end her right there.

Well, that, and the fact that murder was illegal.

Since then, Amara acted like he had proposed to her: coming in every day, leaning over the counter, slipping him her number along with whatever she was using to pay with that day, even trying to kiss him once. It was terrible, but Dean couldn’t get a restraining order because he was both legally dead and incarcerated at the time of his death.

What? Shit happens.

So he endured it, ducking out of the way as often as he could and making sure she wasn’t around when he drove home (because he was _positive_ Amara would follow him home if she could).

***

And that all led back to now. As he placed the drink in front of Amara, she reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Mark my words Dean Winchester—we will be one someday,” she purred, running her free hand over a scarred spot on Dean’s lower arm. He yanked his arm away, and pulled it close to his chest. She leaned closer and whispered into his ear. “You and I are inextricably linked, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, noticing Charlie’s entrance. “Hey, Charlie,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. She looked at him, then at Amara, then back to Dean. “Mind covering me for a minute?”

“No problem,” she said, quickly taking Dean’s place as Dean ran to the kitchen. _Was 9:30 too early to take a lunch break?_

***

Apparently, 9:30 _was_ too early to take a lunch break. Dean sighed and trudged back to his space at the register five minutes later, relived to see that Amara had gone.

He resumed taking and making orders, keeping one eye on Castiel, who looked like he was about to fall asleep at one of the corner tables. Eventually, Castiel left and life continued with its coffee, lunch breaks during lunchtime, and blissful Amara-less-ness.

And so another day passed.

And it was okay.

***

The next day was when things got interesting.

Dean had arrived on time, as was required with having a job, and started working, which was required if you wanted to _keep_ said job. And then Castiel showed up. That in itself wasn’t strange, what was strange was the timing. Castiel came in almost every day, roughly between 9:15 and 9:45 (and _no_ , remembering that did not mean Dean was a creep, thank you very much), around the same time as Amara, who showed up every day like her life depended on it.

Today, Castiel showed up at 8:30, with darker shadows under his eyes than normal and a very determined expression on his face. He practically skipped to the counter to ask for his 17 shots of espresso ( _seriously, how was this guy not dead yet?_ ) and a muffin (chocolate this time).

“Plans?” Dean asked as he worked around three different espresso makers. Something was happening today, and based off of Castiel’s expression it was either something very good or very bad.

“Depends,” Castiel answered, tapping his fingers on the counter.

“On?” Dean tried to focus on pouring the absurd amount of espresso Castiel had ordered into the insanely large cup needed to hold it all, but found himself unable to look away from Castiel. He was smiling now; Dean didn’t think he had ever seen Castiel smile before, but it suited him, even if he did look slightly deranged.

“You.”

_Oh._

“Oh,” Dean said, nearly spilling espresso everywhere and _no_ he wasn’t blushing, shut up.

“You know that woman who comes in right in front of me most days? Amara?”

 _Oh._ Dean’s heart sunk slightly. “Yeah, what about her?” He absentmindedly drizzled the foam into the shape of a heart before passing the drink to Castiel.

“What is your relationship with her?”

“She’s just some crazy chick—a little creepy, if you ask me.” Dean added, feeling slightly bad for trying to put Castiel off of her.

“Okay,” Castiel’s smile widened as he took a sip of his espresso. “You’d say she’s... unstable?”

“Batshit’s closer,” Dean said honestly, shrugging. Castiel tilted his head in a way that Dean would admit was cute under threat of death. Maybe not even then.

Normally, there would be other costumers to attend to, but the shop was strangely empty today, so Dean was content to talk to Castiel.

“Why don’t you do something about her then—forgive my bluntness, but you don’t seem at all comfortable around her.”

“I’m not,” Dean said rather stiffly. He no longer had any idea where this was leading.

“Can’t you get a restraining order?”

Dean shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “That’s kind of impossible, seeing as I’m legally dead.”

Castiel took it in stride. “Murder, then?”

Dean promptly went to retrieve Castiel’s muffin. He needed a second to process that. He returned shortly and set the muffin down in front of Castiel. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Murder,” Castiel repeated, popping the top off of his muffin and taking a bite.

“Jesus Christ, Cas, you can’t just say stuff like that!”

“Why not?” Castiel took another bite of his muffin, “this is very good.”

“Charlie made them— _wait,_ stop trying to distract me—Murder isn’t an option. She might be crazy, but I can’t just go around killing people I don’t like!” _Not any more._

“Trust me—she needs to go.” He paused and took a long sip of his espresso. “I can pay you, if that would help.”

“ _What?_ No—no!”

Castiel shrugged and passed Dean a 20 dollar bill. “Listen, you’re cool and all, but isn’t enough to make me kill someone.”

Castiel looked at him like he was crazy. “That’s for the coffee.”

“Oh.” Dean started to count out change. “Um, Cas, what is it exactly you do?”

Castiel took the change from Dean, dropped it in one of the pockets of his obnoxious trench coat, and pulled something else out of the pocket. It looked like a badge. He held it up and flipped it open; though it was upside down, Dean still knew what it was immediately.

_FBI._

_He was so screwed._

“Agent Novak.” Castiel said, introducing himself formally. “I know your history, Dean, don’t look so surprised. If you _really_ wanted to go under cover you should have found a new car.”

Dean blanched, ditch his Baby? Never!

“That being said, I’m not here to arrest you, Dean. I’m here to... _employ_ you, and get rid of a threat to humanity along the way.”

 _Well then._ This wasn’t how Dean had imagined his morning going. He hadn’t taken a job in years: it was too costly to his currently cushy life for one, and might put his friends in danger for two. But he was sure his life was in jeopardy now that he knew why Castiel was here. _Damn,_ he had told himself this was all too good to be true.

“If you accept and complete the task, I’ll make sure you--and your family—remain safe.” Castiel took another sip—more of a gulp, really—of his espresso. “So?”

“Um, uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll do it.”

***

It was 9:30 on the dot when Amara arrived.

She sauntered up to the counter and placed her order, same as always. Dean looked past her, over to Cas, who gave him a terse nod, and a moment later, an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Dean?” Amara asked irritatedly. “My drink?”

“Right,” Dean said, busying himself with the drink, hyper-aware of the gun hiding under the counter. A moment later he passed the drink to Amara, who took a sip as she passed Dean a ten dollar bill.

“Wait,” Amara wrinkled her nose. “You forgot the vanilla.”

“Vanilla this, bitch,” Dean said, whipping out his glock and shooting Amara in the face.

Someone screamed.

Dean dropped the gun and looked to Castiel, who was holding the door open and beckoning for Dean to follow him. Dean vaulted over the counter (because, face it, that looked _way_ cooler than running around it.) and ran out the door, Castiel right behind him. Dean ditched his work attire (screw you, purple apron) as they ran down a few streets and ended up in the alley.

“So,” he said, looking at the trench coat clad man in front of him. “What now?”

Castiel shrugged. “We should get away from here.”

“Then?”

“Breakfast?”

Dean smiled. “Sure.”

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then they went out for crepes. The end. 
> 
> (I warned you, didn't I?)
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> <3


End file.
